Armored Training Grounds – North of OrléansJanuary 19, 1943
The ground trembled with each turret rotation. The sky was clear, but the air smelled of fresh oil, engine smoke, and steel under strain.
The Tiger I moved slowly but with certainty, like a heavy beast that didn't need to run to command fear. Falk stood in the hatch, eyes scanning the terrain without blinking. The Maybach engine roared with restrained power.
—"Soft right, frontal obstacle," Helmut reported from inside.
—"Adjusting. Elevation five degrees to the flank," Konrad added, aligning the gun.
Ernst, at the auxiliary radio, murmured:
—"It's like commanding a temple."
Falk didn't respond. The turret locked in. The target was an old armored truck shell positioned 700 meters away.
—"Fire," he ordered calmly.
The shot cracked like thunder. The shell tore through the target with almost elegant violence. The wreck scattered in a cloud of debris. Silence followed.
—"Confirmed," said Konrad. "This gun doesn't forgive."
—
A few meters away, Konrad's Panther swept in a wide arc. It moved like a wolf beside Falk's bear—sleek lines, low profile, long gun.
—"It's twitchier," Konrad said, climbing down from the hatch. "More agile. Doesn't demand the same respect as the Tiger… but it's hungry."
The Panzer IVs of Ernst, Helmut, and Vogel performed with solid efficiency. Direct shots, fast reloads, tight communication.
—"Like getting back on a bicycle—but with a better seat," Helmut said.
—"And sharper teeth," Ernst added after his shell pierced an old artillery chassis.
—
During the lunch break, the Tiger crew sat in the tank's shadow.
—"Still not used to this height," Helmut said. "Feels like we're riding a second floor."
—"And the armor… it's absurd. Have you seen the front plate?" asked Ernst.
—"Yeah, but if they hit us from the side, we're not gonna feel a scratch—we're gonna eat the whole thing," Konrad replied, pragmatic as ever.
Falk stared at the main gun. Then he spoke:
—"It's slow. Turns like an elephant. But if it fires first… there won't be a second."
—"And what do you think, Commander?" Helmut asked, smirking.
—"It's a weapon," Falk replied. "And we're not here to drive. We're here to use it right."
—
That afternoon, all five tanks ran a joint maneuver. Line coordination, flanking, tactical radio work. Falk's commands were sharp, clear. His men responded as always: without doubt, without delay.
At the end of the drill, the range officer whispered to his aide:
—"These ones have fought. You can see it in their skin."
The aide nodded.
—"And in their eyes."